


mark is a refrigerator and eduardo is a carrot

by aroceu



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inanimate Objects, Food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:15:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/pseuds/aroceu





	mark is a refrigerator and eduardo is a carrot

Mark was a large fridge. He prided himself on being shiny and stainless steel; his owner, Dustin, was particularly proud of his water dispenser, which was touch sensitive and snug for the large water bottles that he liked to use when he went out to the gym and came back sweaty and said that he would get the attention of his next door neighbor, Chris, soon. Mark thought it was pretty obvious that Chris was into him by the way he kept coming to Dustin’s front door with snickerdoodles every Sunday, but as Mark was a fridge, he was not exactly capable of telling Dustin this.  
  
One day, Dustin came home from grocery shopping with several bags of fruits and vegetables. Dustin really wasn’t a fruits and vegetables kind of guy, but as he was on his ‘getting beefed up to woo Chris’ kick, he also had become slightly obsessive over his diet. He opened one of Mark’s doors and started unloading his food into him.  
  
Even though Mark was not particularly talkative, he was actually pretty fond of having food inside him, mostly because it was funny listening to the food talk to each other. The onions were best friends with the peppers and hated the squash; the milk tried to get everyone to get along but ultimately became the butt of every joke that went on in there. If they ever pissed him off or got too annoying, he’d send a chill down his insides and make them all whine and complain and curse him. That was also fun.  
  
Today, Dustin had bought carrots. This was not particularly unusual; what was unusual was that rather than buying baby carrots, he’d bought a handful of full ones, placing them into the bottom drawer. They were all talkative but quiet, mostly to themselves. There was one that wasn’t really talking to the others, but was humming, sort of, taking in his surroundings.  
  
Once Dustin had closed Mark’s door and they were all alone (as much as alone was being stuffed on Mark’s shelves), that one carrot said, “This is nice. I like it here.”  
  
Another carrot snorted. “You’d like it anywhere, Eduardo,” it said.  
  
“No, really,” said the carrot, whose name was apparently was Eduardo. It wasn’t the worst name Mark had ever heard; the first gallon of skim milk was named Bertha. Dustin had started buying one percent after that, with gallons that had more pleasant names. “It’s cool in here.”  
  
“Literally, or figuratively?” said another carrot.  
  
If carrots could smile, Eduardo did. The creases down his side looked a little bit more pronounced. “Both,” he said.  
  
Dustin made his way through the fruits and vegetables slowly, with the will of a man who was trying to convince himself that fruits and vegetables weren’t as bad as he’d told himself for the past twenty or so years of his life. Thus, the carrots begun to make a home in Mark, making friends with the onions _and_  the squash, chiding the garlic when it tried to roll over onto the banana. (The effort had proved itself to be futile.)  
  
Mark began to know the carrots well, especially the one in particularly, the one named Eduardo. Most foods had pretty distinct personalities from one another purely based on what they were—the milk was always too nice and annoying, the almonds always complained about being put into a refrigerator, and the eggs were always loud and screamed like children when Dustin closed the carton on them. But even separate from the other carrots Eduardo was nicer and politer, wittier and funnier in a way that Mark had never really appreciated before. He’d always liked carrots; they were never too loud and fit for entertainment; but if he had another soft spot that wasn’t actually literal tubs of ice cream, it would’ve been a metaphorical one for Eduardo.  
  
Though, being a refrigerator of course, he would never have to admit it.


End file.
